Got Mag Wir
by Ochita Teikoku
Summary: How to describe this? FACE/CAFE family crack, ye hast been warned. Rated TEEN (knowing how i enjoy a good gory story)... Hm.. Gods like us is the only book that Al will read.. Why does he always hear the words "God of War" in his head? Is there a reason? Or has he gone insane? Or has the author just want a random crack filled story? The world will never know.. Please enjoy ! :D
1. Chapter 1: All focused on Alfred

Alfred F. Jones was not pretty, beautiful or any of those terms in relations to the phrase 'good looks.' He was not ugly, or gross to look at. His looks are average. There is nothing wrong with that.

Alfred has blue eyes that have seen better days but sometimes if looked at, the eyes seem to lure you to being lost in the eyes' essence almost like being lost in a well or lost at sea, which hides underneath his dark brown rectangular glasses. He has blond hair, with bangs, parted to both sides of his face. A random strand of hair stands in between where the hair parts, defying gravity. Its' name is nantucket. He is usually seen wearing a brown bomber jacket with a t-shirt, jeans and some expensive high tops like converses.

He does not have many friends, seldom a few and those he befriended, he barely hangs out with. Much less invite over to his house. There is nothing wrong with his house, he just preferred solitude. Yeah, I think that is about right. He lives his life like every other teenager on this planet, getting bullied and pretty much being an idiotic teen. The idiotic teen that he is so bent on being.

He lives pretty much alone except for the fact that he has the company of his usually absent mother figure, who goes by the name of Arthur Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland has a messy bob, with bangs, and big caterpillar like eyebrows. His eyes are a captivating emerald green and he is mostly seen attired in suits or very formal outfits.

Alfred barely remembers his father and brother, as more days pass, the less he does. He does not mind really, he just remembers the codename 'papa.'

Alfred has the original unpublished manuscript, which is memorized by now, with rips and a few tears from the constant use, a story that this 'papa' had written a while back. Always bringing this book wherever he goes, never forgetting it anywhere, as the story reminds him of something that Alfred probably has forgotten. Along with half of his family members. The title of the story is called Dieu comme nous. Alfred thought that this novel was simply unworldly.

He despises reading, but this one book was read to him over and over by 'papa' or Arthur in his early childhood. By reading it, he almost remembers his 'papas' voice and expression as he read this aloud until Alfred could not keep his eyes up anymore-and thus fell asleep in the comfort of 'papa' or Arthur's arms.

Like almost everyone else, he has really weird and creepy dreams. Actually, he thought that the novel "Dieu comme nous" influenced most of his dreams. Although he barely remembers any except for his annoyance to waking himself, in the middle of the night, to find out that he was crying for an unknown reason.

"Pray for forgiveness from the god of war..." Is the only phrase he ever remembers from his dreams. Thinking back, most of his dreams he forgot by the next morn anyways. He hoped that this 'god of war' was a fictional character like a kick arsce superhero that saves billions of lives. That little voice pounded in his head, never ceasing, even when Al clutched his head in agony.

He rolled out of his bed, to wash his face that was recently covered in salt water from all those tears. Slowly walking to his restroom, turning the sink handle, which let drips of water sploosh out. Drip drip drip. Running his hands underneath the water and splashing it onto his face. The noises from the water ceased as he grabbed a small towel that hangs by the sink. Wiping his face, before drying his hands. Placing the towel back on its' hanger. He grabs a brush to rid his hair of any tangles that it had gained during his tossing and turning in his sleep.

Yawning as he started to untangle his hair, dropping his brush as looked at himself in the mirror. He was usually tan but as of today, he became a pasty white color. Also, he almost constantly tripped over his feet-which was odd since he had good vision-forcing himself to wear his glasses that were usually too strong of a prescription for himself. He also had fake glasses. After he took care of his hygiene, he fumbled back into his bedroom to get a decent change of clothes to wear for the day.

He found a pair of dark denim jeans that had holes by the knees from constant use, a black t-shirt with a glow in the dark neon orange batman symbol, a black with splattered rainbow batman symbols that looked more like a designer seatbelt but was actually just a belt and the usual bomber jacket that has the airplane on one sleeve, along with the star on the front and the giant number fifty on the back of the coat.

Slipping on white adios socks, first on his right then on his left. He grabbed a backpack with the overall appearance that it is black with gray and neon yellow altering decals of the symbol from the legend of Zelda. It was a very light bag, only a few books were in it. A few notebooks, a sketchbook, his wallet, tools for writing or sketching and his favorite novel [which was mostly in french except for the handwritten notes to him from 'papa'.]

He quietly slipped down the stairs, figuring that someone will clean his almost clean room with the exception of the unmade bed and the scattered video games on the floor. Hopefully, someone will. He was certain of it, he was not going to clean his room... Whatever.

As approached the last step, he heard a voice call out to him, making him wince and curse inward. The voice ordered him to sit his arse down and eat breakfast before wandering aimlessly. Tossing the bag aside, by the stairway that led from his room to the living room.

He sluggishly meandered to the table, where his 'mother' sat. The briton bitterly smiled as he asked his son to join him for a nice english breakfast with a cup of Earl Grey. You might of just asked Alfred to digest poison.

Pulling the chair out and slumping down, annoyed that Arthur was attempting whatever he failed last time on him.

"Where are you off to, Alfred?" The british male asked as he sipped his tea.

"School." the American smugly replied as he stared into his cup of tea, filling it with lots of sugar.

"Alfred, there is no school today." He curtly replied, looking into the eyes of his oldest son.

"I know, i know." Al replied in a mocking tone as he continued, "I still have school, y'know."

"What idiotic antics did you pursue this time, Al?" Arthur said with a sigh.

"Nothing. Glad that you actually care this time, Mumsy" he said, either in defiance or with dry humor

"What made you think that, love?" Arthur replied quickly.

"Nothing, nothing. Can I, like go now?" Alfred as he poured more than five cubes of sugar in his cup of tea.

"I suppose I cannot keep you, if this is an important matter that you must attend to." Arthur said, as Alfred started to rise from his seat, "Sit, Alfred. I never said I was through speaking with you for now."

"What is so important iggy that-" The american whined.

"Do not call me that, Alfred. There are two important matters I want to discuss-" Arthur started.

"None of it concerns me, so why tell me?" Al interrupted.

"Both matters concern you, git. We are expecting guests by the end of this next week, a boy around your age and his guardian. Please treat them courteously. The second matter.." The british male droned as he saw the american start look spaced out, "Listen to me will you! The second matter regards your utmost attention. Alfred. Alfred. ALFRED! "

"Hm? What 'boot those two dudes?" The american joked.

"I beg your pardon?" The shocked Arthur barely gasped.

"The boy and his 'rent?" questioned Alfred.

"Ah, very good. I was afraid I lost your attention and it is too early in the morning for yelling. The second matter was about your schoolwork." Stated Arthur.

"So?" Alfred laughed, "Chill dude, take a chill pill."

"I am calm, Alfred. If I was not, I would be yelling right about now." He truthfully stated.

Alfred started to rise again as he was done speaking to this annoying mother of his.

"Alfred.." His mother murmured, "Are you well? You look pale."

"No, no, no. I feel fine, and the hero never lies." He meekly replied.

"Very well. Please take care of yourself, love." Arthur said tenderly as he finished his second cup of Earl Grey tea.

"Iggy. Iggy, have you ever heard about the 'god of war.'" Alfred asked as he tripped over his chair.

"I have. What would you like to hear about that subject? Please refrain your idiotic whims on that horrid nickname 'Iggy.'" Arthur chuckled rather fondly as he answered.

Alfred was quick enough to trip over the chair again, for some unknown reason.

"Careful." In a feeble whisper Arthur, continued "Are you alright, Alfred?"

Dusting himself off as he laughed his signature yet annoying laugh, smiling as he forcefully rambled with all his mental strength that he could muster , "Dude, I am chill. I am so chill, that I am chill. Almost too chill for you-"

As he walked away from the kitchen area, his idiotic laughter was still heard by Arthur. The loud picking up of his backpack, the quick sound of Alfred putting on his black army boots and the slam of the door- which made Arthur almost drop his third or fourth cup of tea.

The murmur of the phrase "What a peculiar lad, he is" which was said by Arthur was, actually heard by Alfred but he choose to ignored it.

The only real question was if the boy, Alfred, actually went to school.


	2. Chapter 2: A Guest or two?

By the next week, the day of the week was now a friday, which meant that Alfred was in his bedroom either playing video games or reading his favorite book. Maybe multitasking, who honestly knows.

A doorbell rang and he obviously heard conversing between a british and french dialects. Not that he cared enough to eavesdrop on the possible boring conversation those two or three were currently having. The soft trudging of someone going to his bedroom was audible, which was soon to be accompanied by a knock at his door. Alfred grunted in response, thinking it was his mother coming to bother him.

"May I come in?" A british voice beckoned that was softer and lower pitched than his mothers. Alfred grunted a quick yes and the door creaked open.

A young male, wearing black jeans and some fancy white dress top. His hair was the same color as Alfreds but a strand of the teen's hair was separated from the rest and was curlier than the rest of his hair. Like Alfred, he also wore glasses.

"Hello, My name is Mathieu Williams." sounded a barely audible voice, making Alfred strain to hear Mathieu's voice. "My name can be translated to Matthew."

Pausing whatever he was doing, he stared at the male in front of him. "N.. n..nice to meetcha Mattie, I am-"

The canadian interrupted in a slightly louder voice, "You are Alfred F. Jones. Are you also known as Alfred F. Jones-Kirkland?"

"Dude, no one calls me Kirkland. Only Iggy does when he is red in da face!" He joked to the canadian, Alfred could not help look at the canadian. Mathieu.. Mattie was insanely handsome, not that Alfred would ever dream about Matt in anyway. Hopefully not..

Mathieu did not understand this joke, was it, that the American had said. Instead of politely asking, he decided to smile, as Arthur did say that his son was on the peculiar side. He noticed a book on the ground and decided against his better judgement to pick it up. Leafing through the novel, Mathieu noticed that it was entirely in french except for the authors notes to a young boy with the name Alfred F. Jones-Kirkland, along with the date.

"Hey Alf-" Started the canadian.

"Mind calling me Al? I really don't like peoples my age calling me Alfred." Al joked.

"Alright, Al. I think I have seen this book somewhere before. Mind if I read it?" Mattie asked hopefully.

"Uhm.. You will return it, right?" Al timidly responded.

"I promise that I will." Mattie promised.

The american called."Uhh, Mattie..".

"Yes, Alfred?" Mathieu quickly answered.

"Y'know it is entirely in French. Can you read french?" The American asked.

Mathieu fondly smiled, almost laughing as he answered "Yes, my father taught me french when I was young."

"Hey Mattie, have you ever heard of the 'god of war'?" Sheepishly asked Al.

"Yes, I have. Has he tried to contact you?" The canadian answered urgently.

Shocked by how Mattie answered the question, he stuttered "N-n-n-no. Actua-l-l-l-l-ly n-no contact."

"Splendid. It is not that he is a bad fellow, it is just that the less you know about him the better." The canadian mumbled. Good thing that Al only heard the first half and not the second half of the sentence.

Mathieu closed the door, as he started to walk down stairs, to rejoin the conversation with his papa and Arthur. Quickly pacing down the steps, as he sincerely smiled, hoping to pass newly gained information to the two others in the house. Of course, Alfred went back to his video games. Smiling as he secretly laughed about how he handed the photocopy of the book to Mathieu, the real one has been in his bag the whole time yet both works look exactly the same except for his main copy had more wear to it.


	3. Chapter 3: Conversations

As Mathieu finally rejoins the group, he murmurs to both adults "Did he mention 'god of war' to you prior Arthur?"

The french male scoffed as he heard Arthur's answer to the question.

"Ohonhonhonhon. Really, mon angleterre?" The french male, wearing tight black jeans and a loose white sheer shirt that showed a majority of his chest. His hair is blond, but he had no bangs. his hair was placed into a ponytail. His name is Francis Bonnefoy, he inched closer the british male, snaking his arm across Arthur's shoulder. "And why haven't you tried to tell him the truth. It could never hurt."

"B-because if I do that you bloody frog then.." Arthur started before decided not to finish the sentence. He already has a distant relationship with his pride and joy. He did not want this relationship to end on a sour note. He and that American Idiot are already arguing as it is and he just.. he just.. That thought is too much to bear..

"Papa.." Mathieu glared as he sensed Arthur's mood, "Don't worsen the situation."

"Oh course, mon cheri" Francis said in an apologetic manner, "Angleterre, my condolences."

Trying to not anger or sadden Arthur, Mathieu quickly changed the subject by being concerned about Al, by asking "Moving to different subject, is he sick?"

"Amerique is sick, Angleterre? Why haven't you tended to him?" The concerned Francis almost squealed.

"He is not bloody sick, frog. He said he is fine and some idiotic rambling about chill and heros?" Answered Arthur.

Throwing Francis's arm off his shoulder, Arthur asked, "What did the bloody god of love or was it lust say about this matter at hand?"

"I rather not say, Arthur. It is not appropriate for young ears." Francis sneered.

Mathieu hands his papa the book that he saw in America's room.

"Ah. This is?" Quaked Francis's voice.

"Oui, exactly what you think it is papa." Answered Canada.

Arthur scowled, "That bloody book. Get that filth out of this house."

"Its not the original." France frowned, as he said this.

"What do you mean that it is not the bloody original!" England almost shouted,.

The frenchman tsked as he told Arthur, "Calm down. The original had that-"

"He is just a boy! Sooner or later-" boomed Arthurs voice.

"Arthur, please calm down." Mathieu begged.

A loud boom crashed from above, sounding louder than a trumpet. Followed with more racket, and moaning winds. Whispers of inaudible words accompanied the heavy downpour and flashes of lighting. The sounds of a door swinging open and a pair of feet thumping down the stairs as the thunder gets louder and louder.

"Uhm.. Guys what's with this freak storm, the weather dudes knew nothing about..." whimpered Alfred as he sat on the livingroom couch, squeezing himself in between Francis and Mathieu. Arthur sat on his own couch that seated only one.

"It will go away soon I hope." gasped England in his small fit of nonviolent rage.

"Are you afraid, Al?" The canadian timidly asked.

Before Alfred could answer, a rumble of thunder made him scream like a girl as he chanted "Heros are not afraid of anything.."

Mathieu answered his own question by whispering, "I take that as a resounding yes then."

"Angleterre.." Francis looked at Arthur as if he wanted to say something really not child friendly.

"Soon." England almost moaned through his gritted teeth.

They all sat on the couch, listening to the storm to die down. The rumbling made Alfred quake every second that it grew louder, and more ominous than prior.

Crash. Boom. Went the thunder, as the lightning engulfed the sky.. The nervous america got up from where he sat, and fell.. He fell right over his two feet. Alfred shakingly got up as the thunder got louder, and the downpour increased, the poor boy tripped. Cursing in french as he started to crawl towards where his guardian sat.

By the next lightning that struck the sky, he speed up his speed, looking up as he saw Arthur's hand. Arthur's hand patted the American's once silky blond hair.

"Come here, love, there is not a thing to be afraid of. It is just a passing storm.." The words choked from British male's mouth, which everyone except Alfred noticed. Arthur hefted the American onto his lap, and latched his arms around Al. Arthur tried to not show his quaking breathes to his dearly loved child.

"There, there love." Arthur said as he tried to steady his shaking voice. Unlatching one of his hands from the other, as he softly raked his fingers through Alfred's once beautiful fields of wheat and grain. These fields are actually his once radiant and golden blond hair. With the other hand that was once around Alfred's waist, snaked it's way to wipe his sons tears away. Then after there were no more tears to fall from the lovely yet scared american's eyes, that said arm went back to support Alfred's waist as the child sat comfortably on Arthur's lap. Humming a lullaby that he once sang to his son as a child, he continues to massage Al's head. The once quaking teenager, Alfred F. Jones, fell asleep to his mother's humming and as he did so, the rain stopped. The thunder slowly ceased to quake the sky, and the lightning resisted it's very nature to strike. The once heavy storm, dissipated into a nice cloudy day with a small breeze. The breeze died down as soon as the delightful melody ended, with a cheerful sigh which swatted clouds away so that the sun could-and would-poke it's head out.


	4. Chapter 4: Mystery hangs on the damp air

"Arthur.. When will you tell the boy?" asked Francis. The british male ignored the comment as soon as it fell out of the frenchies mouth.

"Mon dieu, Arthur.." The french male persisted, "When are you-"

Arthur interrupted France's thought, with a slightly bitter tone "Sod off. I heard you the first time, frog."

"But Arthur-" Francis tried, in order to get the answer.

There was a small whimper from the sleeping teen, as the cold annoyed emerald eyes glaze over to his left hand, the feeling of a warm liquid. Blood. Pulling the hand up to inspect the left hand that once lingered in the smooth fields of blond, he noticed that he accidently pulled a few strains of his child's hair loose. Staring at the hand as he heard the frogs yammering, Arthur watched the dull blond strains curl up, withering until the hair strains turned into cold dead white dust.

"Francis." He said rather seriously as he watched the dust in his hand interact with the few small drops of blood, turning it a very pale sickly reddish color. Then Arthur felt, strange, as the dust faded into his hand. More like fused than faded, making Arthur have a small coughing fit.

Cough cough cough cough, England hacked as he covered his mouth with his left hand's sleeve.

"Arthur?" The concerned Francis questioned, while the canadian looked at Arthur with care.

Cough cough cough cough, the ill sound continued, as few words strung themselves with the coughs "This cough cough will cough pass cough cough cough soon cough"

The emerald eyes that could freeze anyone to the core, blankly stared into space as he continued "cough cough I cough feel cough cough cough so cough bloody cough cough cough cough hot cough.."

Arthur's eyes began to display signs of dulling, as he loosened his tie when he was not coughing. Francis had an idea, he scratched his head as he tore a few of his hair strands. He quickly walked over to the now sickly Arthur, and placed the hair that started to wither in Arthur's left palm. And strolled like a boss back to the couch to which he started to resume sitting there.

Arthur's dull eyes mulled over his palm, not seeing, the french hair vaporize into silver dust which started fade into nothingness. Fusing into the skin of Arthur, slowly entering his bloodstream as he hacked more coughs as he covered his mouth like a gentleman with his left sleeve.

Fiery light enhanced the emerald eyes, that seemed to tempt and lure anyone who gazed at them long enough. The coughing ceased to a stop, which made the angry winds die down with it. The pasty white skin that started to develop over Arthur's smooth and silky skin vaporized, while his hair started to regain the intensity that it once held. Arthur felt his power returning, a crooked yet pleased smile found itself on Arthur's twitching lips. Arthur's body heat slowly found itself portioning itself back to the normal body temperature. Well, minus a few degrees since Arthur was always a bit mildly cold but it never bothered him. His left hand, swooped to fix the tie that he had loosened prior in attempt to lessen the heat.

"I would like to thank you Francis." he said in content, blinking slowly, which intensified his green eyes. The eyes that remind people of a precious gem or a forest of evergreen that lured-pretty much everybody in with one glance.

"The pleasure is all mine, mon angleterre." Francis almost joked, looking at both Mathieu and Alfred before glazing his blue eyes onto Arthur.

Arthur almost wanted to ask his beloved Francis, what did he actually do but he was a bit afraid on what the answer would be. One could never know with Francis. That is right, one can never know. And may never. Not in this eternity.


	5. Chapter 5: Does he?

The pleasure in his smile was swept away as he placed his hand back in the dim blond hair of his son as his fingers roamed. The teen-Alfred's head felt rather hot. And the poor boy was murmuring, of course they all strained to hear the almost mute moans. Bringing Alfred closer, his left hand touched the burning forehead of Al, making the brit wince. The soft moans slowly became a notch higher, making Arthur almost use a curse from his pirate days in surprise. It was almost possible to make out what the poor lad was muttering over and over again. Half hoping that Alfred would speak louder, as Arthur tried to soothe his son.

"..." Alfred said, making Arthur ask "What is it, Alfred?" The boy, in his dreamlike state, almost sang it repetitively.

"...War for forgiveness..." Al, finally spoke loud enough for everyone in the room to be shocked.

The shocked England, automatically responded "I beg your pardon?"

"...Forgiveness..." The word hung in the air, as others joined it "Beg...beg... him... for forgiveness..."

Tears formed from the closed eyes, as the tears flowed down the teen's cheeks like waterfalls. He almost screamed, "Beg.. beg... the... t-the.. god... Beg the god of... Beg the god of war.. the god of war for.. for forgive.. ness.." Alfred looked like he was in great deal of pain from belting out that one phrase louder, and went back to almost hushed whimpers, as the shocked people in the room looked at Alfred. The muttering died down as Arthur sang him a lullaby to ease the poor Alfred's troubles. England wiped away his son's tears, and waited for any new ones to form if any. But there were none.

He felt his heart sank then almost break into thousands of little pieces to cut his newly broken heart, of course that was a darker twisted version of the truth. The majority of it never occurred, What actually happen, the truth of it all, was that Arthur felt his heart sank from the shrieks and screams that of his eldest child.

"Arthur, when are you going to tell him the truth?" the French male prompted.

Arthur sternly spoke, "When Al.. When Alfred remembers."

"What if he never does?" toyed France.

Mathieu ordered loudly, "Papa, be serious!" before switching back into the normal cheerful-almost fake-tone "If he does not remember everything, then we might as well be doomed."

Sullenly but truthfully Francis whimpered "He might never remember."

"Francis!" England cried.

"Papa, let us hope for the best." Mathieu almost bellowed.

Francis nodded, as he then shook his head before startling himself with the own shakiness of his voice "O-oui ma colombe."

Arthur reached for his own head, as he still hung onto his beloved child and was about to..

"Mon cheri, do not be rash!" The french male interjected.

The british male solemnly nodded as his voice was a bit hushed, "I know Francis, I know. I know that I have not thought about the consequences for this reckless action but.."

"Papa.." The younger teenager directed in a harsh tone.

The sound of a stammered yes in a french accent was audible.

Arthur cringed as he tore a few strands of his hair, which he placed into his son's palm as he watched the hair wither into a emerald dust and fade. He placed a hand on his son's head to only see that the boy was still in a sickly state. It was ineffective. There were no consequences for such a rash deed that is visible yet but only time will tell.

"...Papa..." whispered Alfred in between sobs, oh great. The lad started to cry a little. Not again.

Everyone continued to look at the teen in a strange almost irked manner, as he purred things to the outside world, wishes perhaps, that were meant to stay in his dream.


	6. Chapter 6: What shall we do?

"Father, what should we do?" Mathieu ask with a worried gaze.

Both Francis and Arthur looked at Mathieu, not knowing which one he addressed in that quiet solemn tone of his.

"Yes, love?" "O-oui Mon cheri?" Francis and Arthur said in unison.

"..." Canada blankly stared at both adult males, almost coldly.

"What should we do?" the aimless question now hung in silence as both Francis and Arthur looked at each other, trying to figure out whom should answer the boy.

"Arthur?" The canadian begged.

The briton sighed as he closed his eyes before opening them again. Calmly he proposed "I have no idea.."

"What does he think?" The teen almost loudly questioned.

"Him?" The British male asked.

Mathieu loudly asked "Arthur, What does that god think?"

"Him.." The United Kingdom said in a hollow voice, almost robotic and with no feeling, "Him.. He says that the next rash action to pursue would be to gather hair samples from the four of us and attempt to see what would happen to this lad if we did so."

Francis almost protested but his voice died as soon as it left his throat, from the scary glare from Arthur. Mathieu was in no mood to argue, knowing that it would lead no-bloody-where with Arthur, once the briton decided on a thing it was nearly impossible to change Arthur's mind.

On Alfred's palm there was emerald, silver and gold dust that slowly vaporized along with the sickly white dust... Slowly fading into nothing. Everyone's eyes laid upon the American, in hopes that something would happen..

"...!" Briton's eyes sparked with rage as he heard it..

He heard something rather horrid. He heard the American's heart stop.

No beat.

No thump thump thump.

Nothingness.

Silence...

The room was filled with tension and silence.

And the rage from Arthur dissipated into laughter. Cruel and malicious laughter. Almost as cruel as a war cry.

Francis and Mathieu watched in horror.

"He knew.." Arthur choked out from laughter, "Him... He knew.."

Tears slowly streamed from Arthur's ghastly emerald eyes, as he chuckled. "It must be meant to be... If this were to occur... It must be meant to be.."

"...Arthur.." rasped the French male, "...That means..."

Mathieu murmured "He is no more one of..."

"Yes.. How did we not notice that?" The french accent becoming heavy and saturated, mutating how the phrase was heard.

"The laughter.. The malicious laughter.. Won't leave my head.." The british fellow almost bellowed.

THUMP..

THUMP...

THUMP...

THUMP...

THUMP THUMP THUMP..

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP...

"Why is it beating so rather loudly?" Arthur cursed.

Francis and Mathieu looked in amazement as they saw beautiful sky blue flutter open.

A crooked smile.

An annoying laughter as the teen, still sat on his mother's lap.

"What is this a funeral, Iggy?" The American light heartedly joked.

The french male interjected, "It was."

"It was for you." Mattie said, smiling fakely as his tears stopped falling.

"That sounds rather interesting Mattie." The teen laughed, as he winced.

He saw blurs. Why was everything so blurry?

Even Artie was blurry. Had he gone blind? He started to worry profusely, as his smile turned into a thin line hidden beneath his lovely young face.


	7. Chapter 7: Summoned

Arthur took off his sons glasses as he placed them over his eyes. He squinted as he chuckled, wondering how his son was ever to see. A very heavily prescribed lenses.

Arthur took them off, not wanting to gain a headache or worse, a migraine. Gosh, how he hated headaches. Speaking of which, he had noticed that someone has been in his hidden medicine stash. He wonders.

The innocent blue eyes sparkled, as a huge grin found itself on Americas' face. "WOW! EVERYTHING IS SO CLEAR!" He said loudly, "My voice!"

"...?" Francis and Mathieu could not help but smile at the American's enthusiasm about whatever it was that he was yammering on about. Guess no one will know.

Alfred F. Jones looked healthier. His skin regained its' tan color, his eyes filled with newly found life. His hair that was growing dim, sparkled like the sun. So golden and luscious. He almost outshined the other three males in beauty. Almost.

"Amerique, do you know?" Francis requested.

Alfred naively smiled, still laughing his annoying laugh, "Know what dude?"

"Francis, take it as a 'non'." Mathieu meekly stated.

"Where is Gil?" The American feebly questioned.

"Whom?" Arthur said like a gentleman.

Alfred sighed, as he frowned. Sighing again as he said, " Y'know Gil! Gilbert Beilschmidt!"

"You know him?" Arthur said with a start. Both Francis and Mathieu could not comprehend this.

Al annoyedly said, "The dude that brings chaos everywhere he went."

Arthur and Francis traded glances, wondering about how correct he was on that subject except for the grammar. Well, Francis thought his grammar was fine. Then again, English was not his first language..

DING DONG

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Francis realized that Arthur was slowly getting annoyed, and decided-against better judgement-to answer the door.

As he approached the door, it was kicked open. The person who did this laughed, as he slammed the door behind him, truthfully stated "The AWESOME me did not break it."

"Hello, mon cheri. What do I owe this pleasure to?" Francis hinted.

Gilbert smiled as he shouted, "Oh. Hey Francis."

Arthur was a bit irked upon the sudden inconvenient intrusion, but then again, Al was right about one thing. Which was that Gil did bring chaos wherever he went.

"You! What is the meaning of trying to destroy the door that is-" Arthur's sadistic tone reprimanded.

Gilbert shrugged his shoulders as he chalantly interrupted, "I know. I know, the awesome me almost broke an ancient door, centuries old. Blah blah blah, one of the last in existence. Charmed with ancient spells and charms. And I just charmed it with mein awesome foot."

Alfred stared at the prussian male, as if he was supposed to say something. Anything.

"Vhat es dis meeting fuer, anyvay?" Gilbert almost purred in annoyance.

No one answered.

"I vas summoned.. Und I am vundering, vhat is dis meeting fuer?" He asked again, his germanic accent thickening from being ignored.

Arthur put both hands up as if he was surrendering, cheekily saying "There is no meeting, we all just rather happened to have guests over."

"Vho summoned me, zen?" The german accent was starting to get annoying.

"Hey, Gil!" Al innocently boomed.

Gilbert annoyingly sighed, "Und vat es et you required, sa time gott?"

"...Gilbert..." Everyone in the room gasped.

"You mean he does not remember?" Gilbert deadpanned.

"Remember what? What didja just call me?" Al's voice rang out, as he did not read the atmosphere.

"Meister.. Meister Al, forgive the awesome me.,," Prussia requested.

"Sit. Chaos, sit. Talk with him before you forget your bloody oath." ordered Arthur, menacingly.

Gilbert sat on the floor, as he was ordered to, since no one wants to anger Arthur. Except for a certain pertaining somebody. That person is in the room. Need another hint? That said somebody is french.

"America?" Gilbert tested the word out.

The american smiled and smirked, "Yep?"

So the American at least remembered he was a country, unlike Prussia.

"Alfred, would you be a dear and fetch the newspaper?" Arthur sneakily asked.

"Sure sure sure." The American got up from the comfy lap of England and walked out of the door. After quickly putting on his army boots. The door slammed.


	8. Chapter 8: Threats and Wards

Arthur stated, "I only have a little while to say this Chaos. Listen up and listen well."

"Vhat es et, gott sa var?"

"He has no recollection about any of this false god business which you keep mentioning." Arthur said, making his eyes scary and menacing.

"But var-" the prussian insisted.

"I know. If you keep persisting on letting him know, I will tell him, and then.." England's voice spat, "Let's not focus on that, but what I am mentioning is rather dreadful."

Gilbert gulped, as he quaked "I s-see. Please do not tell westen."

"Ah. Chaos, you knew whom I was speaking of. Simply Curious. All well, this makes things easier." Arthur snickered as he boasted.

"Angleterre?" The french male questioned as if he had something on his mind.

The english male simply nodded as if he knew what Francis was hinting at.

"Love gott?"

Francis head nodded, "Oui?" he beckoned.

"Und gott sa Patience?" Prueben tested.

"What is it with you, Chaos, by testing those names on your filthy tongue?" Arthur cried.

"I just vanted to test some sing." Gilbert stated, "Vhy es he runnen avay?"

"What do you mean, Gil?" Francis said.

Gilbert said knowingly, "Vhy does he run avay from hes past?"

Arthur noticed that the newspaper faded from the table.

"Es he?" Gilbert questioned.

Arthur bitterly spat, "It is one of his talents as well as favorite hobbies. Messing with time."

"Should I tell Westen?"

Arthur smugly answered, "This is not a matter for Ludwig."

"Either Yao or Kiku should be of use." Mathieu commented finally.

Arthur asked, "I do not understand love. What has Prosperity or Honour have to do with the problem at hand?"

"They.. Understand him better than any of us.." Mathieu said frustrated.

Francis suggested, "I disagree with both of you."

"How the bloody hell has that got to do with anything?" England said crossly.

France creepily sang, "Not a thing. Not a thing.."

The door thudded open, as Alfred held the newspaper like a pigskin. He then murmured something, making the door close for him. He took off his army boots quickly.

As he looked towards the group like a lost puppy. Walking closer to his guardian, his eyes sparkled mysteriously then returned to his normal sky blue color.

He sat on the wooden floor next to the chair where the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Moving his head so that his blue eyes bore into the mysterious emerald eyes of England, he moved the newspaper from it's tightly snug position to his right hand where he handed it to his mother figure.

"Mum?" Alfred jokingly questioned.

Arthur smiled as he calmly beckoned to the eldest son of his, "What is it, love?"

"Your door needs more enchantments." America cracked a heartbreaking smile at the end of the sentence as he stared into his mother's eyes.

Arthur was stunned for a moment, before swearing " Does it really?"

"Indeed." Alfred spoke in a jesting tone, forgetting what he said prior.

He stopped looking at England as he started to fidget, looking at the guests.

"I could have told you that, mon lapin." Francis flirted.

Canada decided to let France have his fun, so he held his tongue.

"Alfred." Arthur softly whispered as he petted the Americans' golden hair. As Alfred looked up, Arthur motioned for him to come and sit on his lap. "Sit." he declared to his lad.

"Mumsy, I am sitting..I am sitting." Alfred Jones' voice rang like a bell.

Arthur became a little cross as he ordered, "The only safe spot here, is next to me."

Alfred said nothing, as he stuck his tongue out and glared at his parent.

"Going to make sa vards stronger?" Prussia jeered, leaving the floor and choosing to sit on the couch that was already occupied with France and Canada. Sitting down, he gave America a look that advised him to sit on Arthur's lap.

"...Bloody hell..." Alfred swore as he felt a little light headed and dizzy.

Arthur nastily replied, "It will be a bloody hell of an experience if you do not heed my words Alfred F. Jones."

Al wobbly stood up as he swayed, towards the couch. Falling on Arthur's lap. After adjusting his position, he hung onto Arthur for dear life.

Arthur lassoed his arms around Alfred, for comfort and support. He murmured words that sounded foreign to only Alfred. To everyone else, it sounded familiar and they all understood what was being said. Only Arthur spoke, everyone else was in silence. Well, if someone said something it might ruin the ritual. The ritual to renew and create new protection for the wards. This protection protected the house as well as the people in it.


	9. Chapter 9: Leaking blood anywhere?

After thirty or so minutes of Arthur murmuring some kind of magical spell. It finally ended, despite how interesting the spell probably sounded coming off the male's lips.

Arthur looked drained and tired, yet did not excuse himself to retire. His eyes became full of lust and craving. He looked at the pure young adult in his lap.

So tempted, was he. So very tempted.

His throat felt a little dry. He leaned towards Alfred, whom held a questioning look in his eyes.

The briton kissed his son's neck, and almost licked it. With one finger he poked a hole in Alfred's neck, he could of done that with his teeth but accidently used a finger. He saw the rich red blood, swim from Alfred's neck and England lapped up the blood like a thirsty beast.

Although he was not a vampire. He really was not, but he enjoyed the taste of blood. It had been a long while since he last had it. It has also been a long while since there was a war.

After lingering moments felt like hours, he finally appeased his thirst and watched Alfred's now shining neck heal. Now it seems like such a thing never occurred.

He bit his hand, watching his blood drop as he forced his hand close to the American's mouth. Arthur put it closer, and closer until Alfred accidently tastes a drop. Alfred, then, with both hands force Arthur's bleeding hand closer to his mouth and started to gulp drop after drop down.

GULP GULP

GULP GULP GULP GULP

GULP

Of course after a few moments, Arthur's wound healed rather lovely. Alfred gazed at his own blood covered hands mortified. Arthur licked his lips as he saw the blood starting to dry on Americas' face.

He licked the blood that had previously dripped a little from Alfred's mouth when Al was feeding. When there was no more trace of blood on the teen's face, he watched Al continuing to stare at Alfred's palms.

Arthur found it rather annoying, so he grabbed one of the hands and started to lick the blood away.

Just looking, gave Alfred the hunger to lick his other hand's blood away.

When Arthur was done, he latched his arms around Alfred again as he rocked a little. England pecked Alfred's cheek in love. Not romantically.

Alfred closed his eyes, just for a second or so. Opening and closing them repetitively. Until he dozed off.

"Haven't you seen something like this before?" Asked the briton.

Prussia jokingly said, "Ja, I have but vhy do you feed?"

"I have often wondered that as well, mon colombe." Francis boomed.

Arthur sighed as he said, "Am I the only one of our kind to do so?"

"I believe so, Angleterre." Francis teased. "But I have heard rumors about Death doing such a thing.."

"zere are vampires vho do vhat you have done but you are not one of sem." Prueben jeered.

Arthur blushed as he solemnly declared, "I have no idea why I did such a thing and I have no clue on the subject of why Alfred complied to my needs. I thought that gods-"

"Nein. Sey dont" confirmed Gilbert.

Arthur accused, "How do you know that, chaos?"

"Vell, westen, sold me sat sey do not... Butt ser es one exception.." Prussia explained, "Actually two... Se firest exception es you so said Ludvig, und se second exception es ven sey are at sey veakest... Kesesesesese.."

"...I see... That would explain a lot" mused England as he thought aloud, "What you speak of excluded vampires, but what about Al?"

"Al vould be se sird." Prussia said sparingly. "Butt you do not need sis so live, if the awesome me remembers correctly. Kesese~~"

"Chaos, we-meaning both Alfred and myself- would be included in one category, along with Death. Vampires would be the second, and the third category would those at their weakest. Have I missed anything?" The briton corrected.

Prussia annoyingly laughed as he answered, "Ja meister var." Hiding the fact that there was one more category. Not that Britain needed to know, anyways.

"I can tell.." leered Arthur, "You are hiding something.. Perhaps something that is interesting."

Gilbert cursed inwards as he answered, "...The last category, meister Arsur, es se category of corrupt souls."

"I see... I will promise not to corrupt this data by telling any busybodies and Francis as well as Mathieu will do the same." Arthur promised.

"O-oui" Francis's voice shook as he nudged Mathieu until Mattie also chimed in with an "Oui".

Gilbert smiled as he rocked back and forth on the couch, "Awesome! Not as awesome as me!" his voice was a bit shrill.

Alfred stirred, as he almost asked what time it was only to half heartedly chuckle , "Five thirty seven pm.."

His eyes were a cold blue but was also full of mystery. Almost as misleading as an abyss.


	10. Chapter 10

Licking his lips, as he darkly exclaimed "Hey Gil. I always wondered on why you always called people like us 'meister'?"

"Because of se curse, but I doubt zat you reminisce aboot sit.." Croaked Gil.

Alfred looked a bit amused as he taunted, "Please speak correct english."

"Vhich version?" Gilbert wondered loudly.

"Either one. What does it matter?" Spookily said Alfred as he continued, "And remind me on the subject on why you call everyone of our kind 'meister' and please be as kind to myself, to not be so vague."

"Wait." Ordered America grimly, "Arthur, dearest, do you prefer a certain version of english?"

England thought it over, as he coated the words with a thick layer of sarcasm "American English will do." Forgetting that Chaos would take something like that literally.

"As you wish, meisters." Gilbert breathed.

Alfred sighed, as a smile full of mischief appeared, as he told the awesome god of Chaos, "Actually do not bother, I changed my mind. Why speak of something so pointless and unheroic!"

"Wait! Al! Does this mean that you remember?" The violet eyes turned to Alfred, studying him down as he cooly demanded.

Al said nothing, his blue eyes turning icier and more cold yet mysterious.

"Al, listen to me, do you remember?" The canadian requested.

The eyes returned to the bright cheery sky blue, before reverting back to it's iciness. "Remember what?" He reigned a sign of deceit in his tone.

"Nothing, love. It was nothing.." Arthur said quickly with a gasp.

Alfred hummed a song, which reminded him of something, but he could not say which.

"Alfred, lad.. Have you been touching my medicine supply?" cautiously broached England.

Alfred stared at his mother, before sprouting some subtle nonsense about heroes and heroic deeds.

"Mon dieu." groaned the french male, as canada inwardly debated how to approach the subject.

"Alfred, we need to know.. Please tell us, love~" gingerly Arthur coaxed.

Al felt cornered, as he darkly chuckled, feigning to be naive as he brightly murmured "Medicine?"

Arthur held a small container with a golden shimmering orb, from his chest pocket after rummaging for it.

"Thats.. the golden fruit?" Gil curiously asked, tempted to poke the ripe yellow circle thing in that small clear square case.

Mathieu admired it, as he calmly asked "Isn't that rumored to take away.."

"Oui." Accidentally interrupted Francis.

"Alfred, love, did you take this?" Arthur asked the male on his lap, in a quiet tone, as he gestured to the object.

Alfred slid from Arthur's lap, slowly landing on the ground with a soft thud.

"That yellow thing, dude?" The american laughed, as he poked the box containing the fruit.

A gentle knock, sounded. The door opened itself, to reveal a male. He had blond hair that was gelled back, and piercing blue eyes. The male was fit, wearing a black tank top that showed off his muscles.. He wore a green jacket like a cape, and also wore dark army green pants, which were tidily tucked inside his army boots. The accessory he wore, was a cross.

"Prueben!" He scolded loudly, staying in the entrance way after silently closing the door.

The albino chuckled, commenting "Nice to see you brother."

The german stared at the prussian, surprised and a bit irked at the american accent coming from his 'brother'.

"Prueben?" The german sighed, "Come here."

"Yes master." The prussian oblidged, walking towards the german.

As soon as the prussian came over, the male whispered something into Gilbert's ear. Gilbert said nothing, as he stood in attention.

Alfred stood up, as he strided towards Gilbert and his 'brother.'

As the gap between them lessened, the american whispered in a tone dripping with annoyance "Hello, Ludwig.. Here to take away a toy again? You are no fun, as always."

Ludwig sternly answered, his thick german accent covering the words "Well. God of time, I could always send Death over, to have his fun with you..."

"Liar." Alfred replied meekly.

Germany smiled a little, as he said "With my word-the god of knowledge- against yours time. Pick your battles well."

The other three finally stood by the other males, as they all kindly greeted one another, curiously. Well, except the god of love.. He is always such a bloody flirt.


	11. Chapter 11k: A bit perplexed, perhaps?

"You should watch him closely." Ludwig told Britain, motioning to the american.

England eyed the german closely, as he quietly growled "I am afraid, that it won't be necessary."

"Fine. Have it your way, Arthur, but soon.. We will see whom is right.." The god of knowledge said in good humor. Then snapped his fingers, the prussian started to, like a robot, move one of his arms then paused. The german made the same notion, to which Gilbert responded to again, inching his arm farther up.

Ludwig gravely stated "Do not say that I did not warn you." Frowning ever so slightly as the other gods held question in their eyes.

"I have taken your warning into careful consideration.." Alfred's mother started, his voice trailing off. As he droned on, his voice becoming clearer, continuing uninterrupted, "I sense no danger. Would you like, to be alerted, if it comes to my attention that the judgement that I..."

The german nodded in satisfaction to the answer that was audible to him from the god of war.

The god of war always made clear concise but quick judgements, seldom wrong except when his foul temper was a fuel to his decisions.

Knowledge glanced around the room, to find that the god of time was smiling about something. Was it an evil smile? Or was it a mocking smile? Was it one full of hate? Or malice? The cold blue orbs did not help clue the german in to finding out what was hidden to him, from the american, in plain sight.

"Gil~~!" Sang Alfred with a smile. A rather dashing smile or was it a simply to die for?

The prussian snapped his attention to the one who called him by that nickname. He solemnly got onto one knee-his left-, slinging his left arm upon it and his right palm touched the floor. "Ja, meister?" he asked, awaiting orders, from any master who calls upon him to serve. What a curse.

The blue eyes stared down the prussian, as he chuckled "You will do anything I request?"

"Yes."

"It has been awhile since you visited, chaos." commented Al with a sneer.

"Yes it has, master." The robotic voice echoed.

Alfred with glee smiled, "You should see to me again soon, gil. Stand.."

"...Yes.." the german accent oozing over. Gilbert stood up, rather gracefully and fast. He stood stiffly like a soldier. A hand patted his shoulder, it was the americans. The hand-that hand-moved onto patting the albino's head.

"There, there. Who is a good boy.. Who is a good boy..." cooed Alfred in a hushed tone. Everyone just stared at Alfred, unsure what was to occur next, but fascinated as well. It was quite a curious sight, indeed.

He sighed, "I have had my fun, I'd suppose." Motioning a thumbs up sign before laughing a hearty heroic laugh.

"Ludwig.."The nervousness was apparent, as the god of war spoke.

"Ja?" thundered the god of knowledge.

In a shushed tone, Arthur said "It would not hurt to speak to that chap..."

"Yes. Is that all?" Germany almost demanded.

"Quite so." commanded Arthur in a loud voice which made everyone jump.

"Westen?" the shrill tone said in dismay.

"Lets go Preuben." ordered Germany, as everyone walked farther away and towards the living room furniture. Ludwig walked closer to his comrade-err.. bruder-.. He then put his hand on the albino's shoulder in a firm grip, as Gilbert chanted something softly.

After a small flash, they were nowhere to be seen.. Nowhere at all...

"..." Mr. Kirkland almost cursed in annoyance to the flashy display that had occurred.

France uttered something which everyone heard, something among the lines that he inspired those two.. To which, Arthur Kirkland face palmed himself.

Alfred just chuckled, commenting on how awesome-not as awesome as the hero, mind you-the exit was.

Mathieu said nothing, knowing with all the yammering, he might be ignored. Worth a bloody shot.

"That was... Rather... Interesting" he loudly spoke, pretending to be perplexed at what had happened. He actually had no interest. Mathieu did not want to boast but that trick was mere childs play. Well to everyone except Alfred.. Everyone except that american idiot.

"That was a waste of magic.." Arthur dismissed. Knowing bloody well that this topic might come up again, well for him.

Alfred tilted his head in confusion, "Magic?"

"Oui." Added Francis.

"Like from story tales and stuff?" America joked.

Canada fiercely stated, but rather timidly "Do not get him started." Casting glances at Arthur.

"Hrm?" coughed the british male.

Thinking as he said, "Alfred, love, you wanted to hear about magick?"


	12. Chapter 12: NOT making my way downtown

Alfred thought for a moment, as if he was mentally preparing a plan. The flame in his eyes flickered as he resounds a yes.

The emerald eyes of Arthur stares Alfred down, as inquiring glares from France and Canada were cast his way.

Softly chuckling as he smiled approvingly at Alfred. "Very well, very well" was audible in a rich british accent, "Where shall we start?"

Arthur's features looked thoughtful for a mere few minutes before chuckling here and there. Confusing everyone with a creepy smile-much more creepier than the country Russia or rather god of Death- and yes. It was even creepier than the smile that France sometimes flashes. This smile was on England's lips for while before twitching into a worried frown. Then he gasped before almost bellowing, "What do you remember knowing Al?"

Al crossed his arms as he said, "I knew magic at some point?" Tossing his mentor an assuring smile, as he tilted his head as if to motion 'No and I disagree with that statement.'

Francis opened his mouth to say something but before Mattie could nudge his papa, France's eyes flashed a dark purple before returning to an eerie blue. As if he needed a reminder to be quiet.. Mattie smiled rather smug or was it grimly? Who knows.

"...Ahem..." tensely admitted Arthur before saying "..At a point in time, yes."

The American laughed as if to shrug this off, and to pretend as if this was impossible. Nothing really is. Nothing will ever be impossible.

"So you can like teach me Iggy?" Alfred suggested.

The british male flashed a smile, as if that would answer to the Americans doubts. England got up from where he presently sat, striding gracefully towards a shelf in the living room and picked a book from the pile.

As he came back, it was noticeable that the book was thicker than an American dictionary , and was a purplish green. The book looked like it could sparkle and zap everyone who sat there in one glance.

As Arthur sat back on the lovely couch, he wanted some more tea but he was afraid that it might have to wait for later. Do not blame him if he becomes a bit grouchy and easily provoked. Giving the book to the American, he requested his son to read the first page after the index and preface. It was just a simple evaluation spell, to see if his son had progressed in his magical skills.

Alfred looked at the one page that he flipped to and felt a bit awkward at the words that he was supposed to say. It took him several minutes before muttering the first phrase, and he resumed until approximately fifteen or twenty minutes later.. He was surprised that he could make out the weird text and was actually able to read it.

"Well done, Al." persisted Arthur before requesting "May I have the book back?"

Alfred shrugged as he tossed the book over his shoulder, hitting his mother's face. Canada's creepy suppressed laughter could be heard, along with a smirk or two from France.

"Why you bloody wanker" Arthur shrieked, his emerald eyes casting threatening glares at his son.

Mathieu excuses himself to the guest bedroom, for he was 'tired.' And starts to leave before feeling a tug on his sleeve. Looking backwards, seeing Francis solemnly and silently request his son to stay a little longer just in case if the boy was curious in the results.

It was not like it was some sorting hat, that will sort the boy into a random house with an animal name. No. All it did was evaluate the strengths, weaknesses as well as improvements in one's magic. See, you do not need a wand for magic. Some people liked using wands, but in reality wands are just a prop. Nothing really special, just a bloody useless prop.

Mathieu did not care enough, he mumbled a phrase that sounded rather odd. The boy just wanted to be alone. He talked enough with his family, now he just wanted some alone time. Was that too much to ask?

He paced quickly to the edge of the room, which connected to a hallway before saying what he mumbled loudly to his parents and brother. This caused his brother to look at him rather skeptically as he wondered, what had caused Mattie to speak.. Was it in Russian? It was a foreign phrase. Then there was something in french after that. Was he apologizing for saying something weird in another language that no one in the house spoke in? Probably. Probably not.

There was one left.

All alone.

On that couch that sat three. Francis was all alone on that couch.

He yawned like a lion, from tiredness and frustration. France wanted to know what the drama was all about but then again..

Alfred has become bored with the situation and wanted to play the video games that he was playing prior. Or read his favorite book, Or play COD. Maybe play Tekken 3 or something play tetris or something like ninja gaiden. He could always fish out a game boy color and play a nice game of pokemon yellow.

Another option would be sketch something. Perhaps read some manga, or read that popular webcomic called Homestruck even though it is still on bloody hiatus. That could always be interesting.

Use his imagination and conquer faceless villians.

Become obsessed with tumblr, or even deviantart.

He could always sleep.. Yes.. Sleep was always a nice option.

There are so many ideas that he could chose from, but..

What if he felt like not choosing any at all.

Twiddle his thumbs in the darkness as he drowns out his pain to music..

Hoping to his feet as he made way to the staircase that was by the front door, hoping on one leg as he pretended that leg was taken away from him by an ill aimed cannon ball shot from Hook's crew, in attempt to catch the hero from fulfilling his duty. To save the heroine and all that boring jazz.


	13. Chapter 13: Cuteness overload

xxx

Arthur looked at the thick book, scanning the strange words until something in navy blue popped up from the book. The male read it, as he did, his features were overridden in shock.

"What is it angleterre?" questioned the french male in concern.

"..." said the english male

The french male decided to wander from where he sat prior, to the small couch that his angleterre sat. After enclosing on the english male, chuckling sheepishly as he got closer to his dear one. Silently requesting to sit next to England. Sitting next to his beloved- was it his beloved? Or was it that he deeply cared for the younger male?

Poking Arthur's cheek, as he awaited the reply on whatever it may be. The english male's features were deeply shadowed in absent thought which was brought back to annoyance.

Muttering something that sounded ancient, Arthur slammed the book shut before glaring at Francis.

"Mind yourself Frog.." sneered Arthur.

Francis teased, "There is more than enough l'amour to go around~~!"

"If you say so." Testing the subtle words on his tongue before sighing drearily.

Jokingly France purred "I insist~!"

This earned him a half hearted chuckle from the younger nation, which surprised the french man. He poked Arthur, in wonder. Francis wondered if he could ask the uptight nation to the bedroom.

"I know what you are thinking, Francis." Arthur assured the older male.

Francis winked as he asked, "May we?"

"Let me think about it..." The briton sighed, gritting his teeth as jaunting "I thought it over... No."

Francis whined, "Angleterre.. Why must you always be so uptight~~?"

Arthur grinned a cheeky smile, as he bitterly exhaled "There really is no point in arguing like young brats since we can talk this out like gentlemen."

France retorted, "Hardly!"

"Do you want to have some knowledge on the matter or not?" spat England

"O-oui.." stammered the god of love.

"Very well." exhaled the god of war.

Arthur continued on, "He has not been in

practice for a while, a little one at that. "

"And~~?" hurried France.

War sighed impatiently as he urged, "It may be overlooked.. That is if he has any luck left. He is almost like a human... More or less.."

"But Arthur, what if he-" Francis mulled over.

Arthur cut him off, declaring "There may be a possibility that he remembered how to hide the extent of his powers from the book.. Although there would be little need to do so. That is what you were going to utter France? The very possibility that the world may be destroyed by time.."

"Non. I was going to request that we speak to Knowledge, Chaos and mayhaps Death.." feebly requested France.

England was quiet before daunting "Do it if you dare Frog."

"If I have to, it does not sound like an option that I would like to do so.." The french oozed.

England glared daggers at the male, hissing "No one is going to touch my sons."

"Do not be rash, Arthur." Francis almost choked on his words "No one will touch them, I promise. A promise. I would never-"

Arthur snapped, "Great scott! I got it! "

Francis eyed Arthur wearily, England jumped out of Francis's grip . Bolting to Alfreds room, to which he knocked for a great while. Not getting the usual grunt, he slowly opened the door a crack. Checking if Alfred is to yell or scream at the invasion of door was ajar and there was no noise. No noise at all. No noise.

"Alfred, love~?" murmured Arthur, in an attempt to see if the boy was awake. But it would seem that his son was sleeping. After opening the door large enough for one person to walk through.

Silently wandered into Alfred's bedroom.

Weaving in and out of the mess that the teen called his room.

Arthur came across a body laying across the floor, underneath his head rested a pillow.

The blankets were crumpled onto his feet and legs.

The console was still on and the start menu was present on the glowing telly.

There were a few snacks like doritos littered across the ground, Arthur almost stepped on them.

There was a book on top of the stomach that steadily breathed in and out. Reading the title caused England to flinch with worry.

Placing his sons right hand's palm onto the purple green book that he had carried with him from the living room.

Gently placing it on the American as he quickly took his off.

Muttering a spell or two as he watched his son sleep.

After half an hour, he regained the book in his possession as he glared at that novel..the novel that laid on Americas' tummy.

As he took a dorito bag that he found laying around, still full of chips, replacing it with the Alfred's favorite book.

Now Arthur held two books in his arms, as he hummed an old song that he had learnt from his pirate years at sea.


	14. Chapter 14: The end or beginning?

XXx

As he was about to walk out, silently, he noticed a black feather. He heard someone flying, the clank of ancient armour. The small window opened itself up, as if by magic. He heard an accent, a familiar one... Then there was a soft grunt, the graceful flapping of the wings.

A figure of a male crouched on his left knee. The old armour rattled a little, making the otherwise silent entrance noticeable. The male was like no other. He had long black wings, and wore (obviously) old japanese samurai armour with swords attached. His mouth was covered by some kind of garment, black as ones soul. The brown eyes. Those brown eyes surveyed the room, before hopping off the perch of the window. As if his presence was not threatening enough, the words he muttered were without sound.

He looked straight at Arthur, not blinking, as if he could see the depths of the English man's soul.

"Arthur." His manner was apologetic.

Arthur found his tone to become harsh, questioning "Honour.. What brings you here?"

The japanese man said nothing as if to find a neutral phrase that would give nothing away, his eyes told not a thing. He took a small breath.

"Visiting a dear friend.." Was audible from the visitors lips.

This made the briton smirk in disgust, bitterly uttering "If that were the truth and i emphasize on the term 'if,' would you use the door or enter as you have done."

"..." Saying nothing but uttering soundless words, as he bowed.

Arthur turns to leave before growling ominously, "If you do anything.. Harm one strand on his head.. You will regret it, Honda Kiku. Know me well.."

"...Wakarimasu.." He mouthed the vowels before stammering, "Understood."

Closing the door, as Arthur walked down the stairs. Seeing the flirting frenchie, he cursed outwards before blushing and stammering about had been said. He sat in his usual spot, crossing his arms in annoyance at the statement. The statement that Francis Bonnefoy made, as he drank wine from a glass. Wherever he got that bottle and glass.

Tossing the book, the book belonging to his son at Francis. Luckily Francis ducked, saving his glass of wine from staining the floor. Lucky Francis. Lucky.

"Here." England spat.

Francis looked at the fallen novel, noticing that he wrote it decades ago.

He felt the worn pages, glancing at areas where the text had faded. Knowing that the spell has gone inactive a few hours prior..

The color drained from his face, as muttered a curse in french.

Quickly sipping the last of his beverage before refilling.

"Blasted frog" England cursed, after the dreaded silence.

Francis frowned as he mocked, "Watch what you say, it may become true."

"...Are you poorly attempting to quote Lao Tzu?" corrected Arthur.

The frenchman sat, pondering until he answers "As if I would have the time to quote anyone, mon cheri~" His eyes became a dark ominous purple, as he evilly smirked.

England did not notice this, since he thought the silence was comfortable. Or was it?

"The spell?" groaned Francis through gritted teeth, "Ah. It is over."

Arthur's eyebrow moved, as if to cast a skeptical gaze at that french lover.

Francis shifted where he sat, uncomfortably, clutching his head in his hands in pain. The eyes shifted back to a pained blue..

Their thoughts, interrupted by inhumane laughter. The begging for ones life. The screams.. The graceful swoop and crash.. Opening of the door, the footsteps bouncing down the stairs. A bang. The clatter of an idiot picking himself and brushing the invisible dirt off.

"Stop." demanded the cool voice of England.

The laughter continued. It would seem... That Alfred is being reckless again.

Francis clutched his head in agony.

"The voices wont stop, will they papa? Not til yo' give them what they request.." darkly voiced the american male.

Pacing closer to his father, he heard the slow gasping of the french man. "Give in?" Alfred jeered.

Knocking over the wine bottle to the ground. Hearing it shatter, as the glass was soon to join it.

Alfred picks one of many pieces of glass, holding it in his left gloved hand.

His right hand wrapped itself around Francis's neck, in attempt to choke him. The ragged breaths that continued as it turned harder to breathe. Fumbling from the grip that once latched itself on France, he kicked his son in a painful spot. As his breathing turned back to his norm, he chuckled as if this was all a game.

"I wont die that easily, Alfred." France said, rather spiteful.

Of course, by then, Arthur's featured were filled with conflicted feelings and confusion. Along with dazed. He laughed a bit, as if he had found this amusing or was it to make the awkward silence to fade away..

Clapping was audible.

"Another tantrum, child? When will you learn to behave yourself?" Arthur spoke, after his face became serious.

Alfred, annoyed at being associated with the endearing term 'child'.

"Not a child." Al coarsely whimpered.

Arthur resumed bitterly, "Not a child, you declare? _Really._ You always behave as such, so it is safe to assume that you are one. Thus you shall be treated as one. _A child._ Now enlighten me, on the topic that you are not a _bloody _child."

The american looked like he was going to cry but sorrowfully smiled, sniffing as he spoke "If we are going by that logic.. Then in no way, do you, behave in a _gentleman _like manner."_  
_

France chuckled absently, as he looked at the two going back and forth with the senseless bickering. Almost as if everything went back to normal.

Nothing ever is normal. Nothing can ever return to such. The past can not be altered, in such a way that the future can be. The past can never be returned to. What a bittersweet thing to want. Things to resume as if nothing will ever happened to change that. There was nothing to return to. The emptiness... The future looked bleak and bright at the same time. Bittersweet. That is how life is, and always will be. Things to regret. Things to yearn for. Time to pass, to heal all wounds. To forget and forgive. To remember.. Time..

Alfred kicks his mother figure, as the man tries to block with his right leg. Failing, he falls. Alfred offers a hand to lift him up but is declined.

Arthur, with his left arm blocks the left round house kick of Alfreds. Rushing into Englands' opening, tossing a left handed punch.

Which hits Arthur's arm, his left arm starts to bleed as he remembers that one of the young lad's hands clasps a broken piece from that french bast*rds wine bottle. Focusing on the hand that holds the glass, forgetting to block the few right handed punches.

Coughing slightly as Artie continues to block as slowly utters a phrase later to be ashamed of, "Please let me become your hero. I will protect you my dearest friend..."

Blocking the next side kick, as Arthur starts to bleed where he was struck. He cries out in pain, as he softly sings "I will give my all.. Standing bravely, I decide there. I will give-"

"Are you done singing this pathetic song?" Al says in disclaim.

"No.." Moans England, trying to block the younger ones attacks..

"Stop it, Angleterre. Give in, there is no hope for the-" France solemnly said.

"France?" gasped England.

"What? I am sick of acting cheerful, only for you to destroy it. This time, you won't be there to ruin it.. For ever-" barks Francis.

England embraced the american as he said calmly, "If this is best. There is no need to fight this anymore, I am afraid." Bleeding from the deep stab wound that started to gush more. It was a good hit to a major organ.

The American stabbed the british male more times than possible to count, until he had one sane thought left. Arthur was, amazingly, barely hanging on. Alfred holds the mother figure with care, as he whispered in between gross sobbing "I was supposed to protect you.. That is what heroEs are for, y'know.. To protect the damsels in distress.. But you.. You.. Became.. bec-became.. my hero.. Gosh.. I am pathetic.."

"I...I... I.. will protect you forever, love" England croaked.

A sickly sweet smile engulfed the frown, as he strangled the throat of the one whom once cared dearly for him... "Why don't you die... Why wont you? So we all can live in peace.." cursed Alfred, chuckling hollowly.

"Francis?" Alfred questioned like a lost puppy. "Papa?"

The french male glared at the younger nation, as he frowned.

Alfred tried to act cute, jeering "If you frown that much, y'know.. it may stick."

The man ran towards his beloved son, trying to kill his off spring... Until he tripped on thin air.

No matter how much he tried to kill the boy, he kept on missing and it was not like the boys reflexes where the best. Alfred was exhausted.. Mentally and physically.

There was a crash, and slow breathing.. This said breathing came to a halt..

"Papa? Papa? Please WAKE up! Do not die on the hero!" Screamed Alfred.

The last breath of Francis contained something like a wish, "...This is your.. Fault Amerique... Add.. This to your collection of sins.. Ohonhon..."

Then silence.. Alfred could not bear the silence..

Running to his brothers room. Opening the door, only to find that his brother died. His throat was pretty much ripped out. Mathieu's eyes dripped tears of blood.

"Nooooooo!" Screamed Alfred F. Jones. Reading the words on the wall, the bloodied words (The red letters) spelling out "_Time will repeat..._"

"This gotta be some sick joke... Or a dream... Please let it be.." He prayed.

Bolting out of the room, only to hear the silence to be filled by a lull of insane laughter. Not his.

Entering the living room, with the lifeless bodies..

"Privet comrade~" the happy voice exclaimed..

Alfred glared at the russian male, shouting "YOU! THIS... THIS IS YOUR FAULT!~"

"No need to yell, my hearing is fine. This was all your doing, da~" smiled the taller man as he exclaimed the facts.

Alfred began to cry, stammering "I... i do not... recall doing... any of this..."

"No one ever does" The russian tried to comfort Alfred.

America voice quaked, "...Ivan.. I am.. Afraid.. Heroes... Shouldn't be... Of themselves..."

The god of death inched closer to the american. Closer..

Until they were barely far apart, as Alfred was forced into a hug. Ivan ran his gloved fingers in the hair of Alfreds.

"That's a good Fredka, da~" he softly whispered..

Ivan chuckled darkly as Alfred asked "What is so funny?"

"...Not a thing, Fredka.. It is just this will repeat over and over... Your sins.. No way to escape.. No one will remember.. Especially you.. Going more insane by the loop of time.. The betrayal you forced on your comrades.."

Alfred casts a doubting glare at Ivan, through tear ridden eyes. He barely choked out, "...You.. Cannot.. be _bloody _serious.."

Ivan sighes, bemused as he answers "I am.. Shh.. There that is a good boy... It is almost time that I return to Yao-Yao's side.."

"No!" Al screeched.

The god of death wearily sighed, asking "And why not, da?"

"...I mean... Can you stay by my side... For a little longer?" Faltered Al, blushing from embarrassment.

Ivan replied a bit meekly, "It cannot hurt... Da?" He seemed rather hesitant to say that time will repeat itself over and over.

"...Thanks..." Murmured Al.

Ivan spoke honestly, "I still hate you capitalistic pig."

"And I you." retorted Alfred.

"With that, good luck." softly spoke Russia, as wriggled himself out of the sobbing boys grip.. "Unless you want me to kill you, yes~~?"

"Commie bast*rd!" cried America.

Ivan sighed, "Nyet, I am not a communist anymore Alfred."

With that he left, uttering a farewell which Alfred refused to acknowledge. Leaving Alfred all alone..

And slowly did time seem to stop..

Time did halt..

Until it rewound itself like an old music tape.

Over and over.

But what if that is not true? What if this was all a lie?

To simply please the sick mind of the universe?

Was it karma? Or no?

Did this even occur? Or did it not?

Was Alfred ever alone to begin with?

The world will never know. For things will resume as they had, ignoring whatever had occurred. The bloodshed, might of came from Alfred's imagination. Perhaps not.

That shall be left for the dear reader to interpret.

Good luck and farewell comrade~~ ^J^


End file.
